


Unworthy

by KuraNova



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bad coping mechanisms, Denial, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, NSFW, Nonfumbly!Cullen, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4443980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuraNova/pseuds/KuraNova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen deals with his lyrium withdrawal and nightmares by trying to fuck it away with a different woman every night.  Problems arise when the Inquisitor finds out.<br/>Nonestablished relationship<br/>Response to DAKinkmeme prompt and part of the Thedas' Most Bangable challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore a Cullen that is far different from any characterization I've attempted before. This work will come in installments.  
> If you're interested in the challenge, please visit http://tmb.boards.net/
> 
> Also follow me on the tumblr! kuranova08.tumblr.com

Cullen woke with a start, sweaty, breathless, and struggling to quell the remnants of abject terror that had gripped his heart and paralyzed his body. Bedclothes hung loose about his naked hips as his hand passed over his face, wiping the dampness from his clammy skin.

 _Maker_ , he thought, taking another deep breath before he swung his legs over the side of his mattress and stood. Bare in the pale starlight shining from the slatted holes in his roof, he moved to tug on a pair of thin breeches and a cotton shirt, not bothering to lace the neck. He needed to feel air against his skin, but he wasn't about to strut about the battlements in nothing but his birthday suit.

Cullen slid down the ladder and into his office, unlocking the door facing the Herald's Rest, and strode outside into a cool, blustery wind. It wasn't quite morning yet, and he was pleased at that knowledge as he walked into the tower beside his, found the door to the tavern, and headed inside.

Cole only greeted him with a small nod, brow furrowing in puzzlement as he watched him head down the steps. There was a purpose to his gait. Cullen knew exactly what he needed in this moment, and it involved a very strong drink and any woman willing to have him.

His breeches were almost painfully tight in the wake of his nightmare, and over the years he'd learned to cope with the effects of his twisted dreams in the only way that left him marginally functional as a human being afterward.

He fucked.

He didn't make love, he didn't woo, and he didn't  _care_. On nights like tonight he would head to the bar, have a drink, and proposition the woman who would take the least amount of convincing. He supposed he should have thanked his ancestors for his fair looks, because he'd never had to convince anyone to fall into bed with him.

Coming to a halt at the bottom of the stairs on the ground floor of the Herald's Rest, Cullen looked around and noticed that there were still several patrons remaining in the establishment. Bull sat back in the corner as always, entertaining his Chargers and a few Inquisition soldiers with his unbelievable tales of life under the Qun and as a Ben Hassrath. Varric was also present, occupying a seat at the bar with Sera who seemed to be in the middle of a rather large and confusing explanation of her latest trip out with the Inquisitor.

_Lydia_

Cullen felt his gut clench at the mere thought of her name. Lydia, the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, and the most delightful woman of his acquaintance always plagued his thoughts on nights like tonight. For the most part he'd done well in subduing his baser urges where she was concerned, feeling she was entirely undeserving of his fleeting attentions, and desiring her in no place near enough to him that she would be sullied in any way by his actions. To put a finer point on it, Cullen placed the Inquisitor on a pedestal, so enraptured with her - moved by her skill and compassion, impressed with her roguish prowess and cunning wit.

He felt his cock stir in response to his wayward musings, and immediately shut that course of thought away. He'd no place to fantasize about her in such a fashion - not when he was so broken, and not when there wasn't anything he could do about it.

In another life, Cullen knew he'd have done anything to win her affection, but he was trapped in the here and now, and no amount of dreaming or pining would ever change that. Kinloch hold had molded him into what he was - a lyrium-addicted rake who'd only just recently begun to see the myriad injustices the Templar Order had committed within his tenure.

He was entirely unworthy of her, and he knew it.

The finality of that thought settled firmly in his mind, and the commander moved toward the bar with an easy, loose-hipped gate that hid the coiled rigidity in his muscles leftover from his nightmare. There he motioned over the barkeep, ordering a tankard of mead. Ale didn't suit his taste at all. He couldn't stand the stuff, really. Cullen enjoyed the cloying sweetness of the honeyed mead that clung to his tongue and lingered on his lips. The taste of the beverage on his lips also made his diversion far more pliant for whatever reason.

Perhaps it was that ale held a stench, while mead was a beverage pleasant to lick and kiss from another's mouth. Regardless, he finished off the tankard in a few gulps, shrewd amber-colored eyes scanning the occupants of the tavern as he ordered another.

A group of serving girls in the corner openly appraised him, leering eyes raking down his body in a shameless display of primal desire. Unfortunately, Cullen had already dallied with each of their number, and with a smile holding little heat, he turned his gaze elsewhere.

The lilting, pleasing sounds of a lute drifted through the air, but Cullen dismissed the possibility of lying with Maryden. He'd already enjoyed her many talents, and didn't wish to visit a woman a second time. Such an action might suggest to a woman that there was something more between them, and a romantic entanglement, real or imagined, was not something the commander wanted to deal with.

Lysette, Cassandra, Josephine, Leliana, Lace, those twins that had arrived with the number of mages Lydia had rescued from Redcliffe, that woman who'd come to train the Inquisitor how best to utilize her variety of poisons - he'd never caught her name - all of them he'd lost himself in, and none of them remained fair options.

Cullen blew out a frustrated breath from his nose, taking another swig of his mead when his eyes alighted on one dainty-looking woman with a bit of dirt smudged on the hem of her skirt as she breezed through the door. He recognized her from Haven. Flissa, he thought.

Breathless, she hurried to the bar, murmuring something to the keep that had him grunting in annoyance, and the woman flushing in embarrassment. Cullen knew he stared openly at her, and when she caught his eye she started a moment, appearing to look right through him.

He might have squirmed under the intensity of her scrutiny had he a care, but the straining arousal in his breeches left him with little inhibition for what was appropriate. He wanted to fuck her, after all, and tip-toeing around his desires was the least effective way of seeing them fulfilled. Lucky, though expected, for him, Flissa finally smiled, a small simpering thing that had every nerve in his body standing at full attention.

"Pleased to see you, commander," she began, pink tongue darting out to wet her lips. His eyes followed the motion as he shifted in his seat, acknowledging her with a small nod.

"Flissa." He let her name roll of his tongue with a rumble, leaning the weight of his accent at the tail of her name suggestively.

Her eyes became positively predatory. "I hear-tell you've been needing a diversion." She tossed her head, soft brown locks cascading like water down to the small of her back. "I believe I might be able to help you with that."

Not ten minutes later, Cullen had the slight woman pinned between his body and the wall outside the tavern, hidden from prying eyes, his hips grinding into hers with little gentleness or subtlety, but Flissa didn't seem to mind. She met his every thrust, biting his lower lip in a soft challenge when he loosened the ties of her skirt, but batted her hands away from his own clothing.

With a growl he anchored her wrists above her head with one hand, while the other tugged the fabric covering her wet cunt up over her backside so that it bunched around her waist. She mewled desperately, arching her back away from the wall to press her body against his. He held himself back only a moment to free his aching cock from the confines of his trousers, pumping his length slowly with his free hand while Flissa eyed him hungrily.

"Turn 'round, he ordered, releasing his hold on her.

She followed his instruction immediately, placing both palms against the rough wall and sticking her pert little ass out like cat in heat. Cullen hummed, pleased, drawing a single finger up her slick heat and settling the pad of his finger against her pearl. He flicked the nub without warning, earning a soft cry from the woman as she leaned her rear out further.

"Please," she panted as he watched her arousal dampen her thighs, his fingers playing against her pearl while he slowly pleasured himself to the sight of her, disheveled and wanting and entirely unsated.

"Please, what?" he murmured, moving forward to rub the head of his cock against her soft, wet heat.

Flissa bit her lip, stifling a moan as she struggled to regain herself long enough to answer him. "Please fuck me, commander."

Cullen groaned and slid into her without preamble, snapping his hips firmly against her ass while she braced herself against the wall in front of her. He was seated completely within her, and wasted no time drawing himself out to repeat another violent, full thrust with a happy little groan.

_Maker, this was exactly what he needed._

She cried out, though attempted to quiet herself, but as Cullen's thrusts grew harder and more frenzied, Flissa began to lose control of herself. To stifle her keening, Cullen clamped a hand over her mouth, twisting another into her hair and force her back to bow, allowing him even deeper access to her throbbing sex.

His hand twisted more firmly into her hair, and he thought with a satisfied smirk that he would be well rested come morning. With another jerk of his hips Flissa's heat clenched around him, drawing him into his own orgasm, and sending his hips stuttering against hers as he spilled himself inside of her. 

 _Yes_ , he thought. This was exactly what he needed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! Please enjoy!

Lydia nibbled on the tip of her thumb, eyes roaming over the parchment lying atop the war table in silent upset. She'd have to make a decision here, and no matter which option she chose, it would end up pissing off one of her two most trusted and able allies.

Her eyes flitted momentarily to Josephine, who looked about as put out as she did, but the ambassador did a much better job of hiding her unease than Lydia. Certainly, gnawing on one's thumb did not present an assured, collected front. It probably made her look much more like the awkward youth she felt like in the presence of three such seasoned and talented individuals.

With a deep sigh, she pulled her nail away from her mouth and swallowed the lump in her throat, looking up to meet Cullen's gaze. He was regarding her with an air of expectation, and she was fairly certain he expected her decision to be in his favor. His eyes, warm and intent, held hers immediately, but the subtle question in them was plain to her.

 _Trust me?_  they asked.

Cullen would often pose such silent questions to her with a simple glance or a shift in his body language. The man was a master at making his intent known without uttering a single syllable, and while Lydia might have found such a skill romantically engaging, she dismissed the notion entirely. Cullen was ten years her senior - an experienced man that, no doubt, wanted the company of a woman as educated and noble and perfect as he was. Moreover, she  _respected_  him to a fault. In her time running odd jobs for the Carta in Kirkwall as a young girl, she'd come to know the Knight-Captain of the Gallows by deed alone. He was the decent sort, and she was not.

Lydia dropped Cullen's gaze and stared down at the map, pulling her determination around her like a suit of armor. When she raised her eyes, she addressed everyone with a clear and concise voice that surprised even herself.

"We will go with Leliana's plan. Using a few scouts in the place of a whole unit of Inquisition soldiers will be less likely to alarm the Comte, if at all. I'd rather move with caution in this matter than an outright show of force."

Cullen visibly bristled, spine perfectly straight as he pinned Lydia in place with irritation in his eyes. "You toy with the lives of those townspeople if you refuse to send my men in, Inquisitor. It's likely they will lose their homes, and some may even perish without the Inquisition's aid!"

Lydia nodded sharply, unwilling to change her mind despite knowing the potential cost of their plan. She could not back down now. Doing so would make her appear weak. "I am aware of the risks, Commander, but hopefully Leliana's scouts can put an end to the Comte before this all gets out of hand and he acts without thinking."

"There would be  _no_  killing at all if you'd just send my men in to arrest the damn fool. The Comte would be dealt with, and the people would be safe. That's a win for both sides, if you can't already see it."

Lydia set her jaw in a stubborn thrust, cocking her head and narrowing her eyes to meet Cullen's irate expression tit for tat. Normally when she chose one advisor's plan over another, he simply nodded his head in assent and let it lie. Today he was fighting her, more so than usual, if he'd ever pursued her compliance to this degree ever before. He hadn't, she was sure, and his intensity on the matter fueled her concern that something was wrong. Briefly, she recalled a day months ago when Cullen had confessed to her that he was no longer taking Lyrium, and that the side effects had been terrifyingly unpleasant. Looking at him now, she wondered if this argument didn't stem from a lack of a good night's rest, or the absence of Lyrium itself.

"Commander," Lydia spoke finally, allowing a tired sigh to slip through her iron-clad front, "I believe Leliana's plan will ultimately benefit the Inquisition in the long run. Your plan holds too many what-ifs to be certain if your hope of success would result in reality." Lydia paused, hating how prickly she felt while addressing him in such a forceful manner. She would have much rather addressed him as a friend, but the situation being as it was, with his heated eyes boring into her, she felt now was the time to be the Inquisitor. "I appreciate and value your input, but now is not the time to utilize the brute force of the Inquisition's soldiers." She looked to Leliana and Josephine then. "I believe, if that's all for today, I'd like to get some rest before heading out tomorrow."

"Of course, Inquisitor." Leliana inclined her head. Josephine did much the same, but before either of the women could exit, the Commander had rounded the war table, growling to himself as he stalked out of the war room with all the leonid grace Lydia had come to expect from him, as angry as he seemed to be.

Lydia felt like she had been slighted by the abrupt departure, but more than her temporarily wounded pride, she felt her concern for her Commander grow.

"Do you think he's alright?" she asked her remaining advisors, crossing her arms beneath her bosom as a frown pulled her brows down over her eyes.

Leliana smiled to herself. "He will be fine. He just needs to  _work out_  his anger on something productive. I would not worry overmuch."

Somehow the Nightingale's assurances did little to assuage her concerns, and when the two women left, Lydia made to go to Cullen's tower and discover for herself if he was truly well or not. Thinking of nothing but how she might be able to help her friend and commander of her forces, she crossed the main hall's thick, red Orlesian carpet, passed through the light filtering through the large windows, and waved a greeting to Varric. The dwarf quirked a brow at her passing, no doubt having seen and deliberated on Cullen's foul mood. The Commander was a passionate man, to be sure, but he normally did his best to keep himself in check.

Lydia nodded to Solas as she passed through the rotunda, hurrying her steps as she emerged from the keep proper and over the worn stone bridge that would lead her to Cullen. As she approached his office door, however, a loud crash preceded the rattle of the heavy door before her. Lydia stopped in her tracks, staring perplexed for a moment, at the slats of wood obscuring Cullen's office and the motes of dust and debris puffing out between the spaces and beneath the door jamb.

_Maker's breath, what in Thedas was going on?_

Filled with a sense of trepidation, Lydia drew closer, and was now able to hear the telltale inflection of Cullen's voice as he grunted and growled. His footsteps echoed along the stone walls, his heavy armor clinking in the same rhythm as he moved. Another crash preceded by a string of curses, and still Lydia stepped closer. Almost guiltily, she looked up, scanning her surroundings for anyone that might be passing by, but at this time of night she was alone. Even the patrols wouldn't pass by this way for some time. A nervous thrill raced up her spine as she knelt before the door, fingering the cool metal of the handle as she pressed her eye to the keyhole to look inside.

Cullen paced like a caged beast back and forth across the expanse of his office. He paid little mind to the rubble at his feet. Papers, broken glass, reports all crunched beneath his boots and kicked up in the wake of his furious passing. His desk lay overturned behind him, bookshelves askew but for one that had been entirely pulled over. The candles that normally bathed the interior of his quarters in a soft, homey glow had been extinguished, and the leggy candelabra was propped against the ladder in a twisted almost unidentifiable heap.

There was a low rumble following Cullen as he moved, and it took Lydia a moment before she realized he was  _growling_. Her heart wobbled unsteadily in her chest, something not sitting quite right with her at this destructive scene. Where in the Maker's name was her level-headed Commander, and why had he overturned his quarters? Was this because of her? Was he this angry because of what she had said in the war room? A feeling very akin to fear caused sweat to bead on her brow, but she dismissed the unwelcome sensation. No, if Cullen was directly upset with her, he would say something. Wouldn't he?

Another curse snapped her attention back to the man in question. He'd stopped his pacing, now standing in front of one of the loopholes. Though he was turned away from her, Cullen's chest heaved as he struggled to calm his breathing. She heard a sharp intake of breath before a low groan echoed through the air, the sound of which made her stomach tighten with something other than nerves. Cullen dropped his head against the stone wall, and to Lydia's surprise one of his hands drifted down over his stomach, roaming over the swells and dips of his armor before settling at the front of his trousers. He cupped himself then, letting out another needy sound as he rolled his hips forward into his hand.

_Maker's fucking balls!_

Lydia stifled a squeak, jerking away from the keyhole to press her back against the low wall of the bridge. Her color was high, if her burning cheeks were any indication, and she felt like an absolute lecher that she'd actually witnessed him pleasuring himself - or starting to, at least. Even so…

Almost hating herself, but not quite enough to stop, Lydia returned to the keyhole and peered through it once more. This time she was greeted by the sight of the Commander removing his breastplate and letting it fall to the floor with a thunk. He quickly divested himself of his gauntlets and shrugged out of his sword belt. He'd turned over his desk once more, and though it was now upright, it was askew. Cullen didn't seem to mind in the slightest, however, because once he'd stripped down to his shirtsleeves and trousers, his hand was at the front of his pants once more. Nimble fingers freed himself from the confines of his breeches, and Lydia had to bite her lip to keep silent at the sight of her normally cool and composed commander stroking his cock in the middle of his office.

Mangling her lower lip with her incessant biting, Lydia sighed at the sight of him thick and heavy in his hand. She stole another look around her and, seeing no one, allowed her hand to ghost over her clothed breasts and down her stomach, hesitating at the waistband of her trousers a moment before she continued southward. She cupped herself, rolling her knuckle across the top of her sex where it begged for the friction of her fingers. Stifling a whimper, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and desire, Lydia focused back on Cullen.

Her commander was hunched over now, the solid wood of his desk beneath the flat of his hand while the other moved over his cock in slow, deliberate pumps. Cullen didn't bother to hide his pleasure, small moans spilling forth from his lips with each pass of his thumb over the head of his cock. Just the sound of him coming undone as he masturbated unknowingly in front of Lydia was enough to stoke the heat coiling about in her belly and send her twitching fingers beneath the waistband of her pants to plunge into her sex with slippery ease. If anyone were to come upon her now, she would be hard pressed to weave a lie well enough to extricate herself from her damning position - not that peeking through the keyhole of the commander's office was any less embarrassing.

Shoving aside the worry, Lydia increased the pace of her fingers, swallowing the desperate whimpers that threatened to expose her. His trousers now hung more loosely around his hips, his skin glistening with sweat as he panted and neared his release. She could see it in the way the muscles of his thighs flexed beneath the fabric of his pants and the way his ass tensed as he thrust shallowly into his palm. As his pace increased, so did her fingers, and for a moment she had her body convinced that her hand's circuit between her dripping sex and her clit was really the thick press of Cullen's cock between her folds. Now leaning against the door to support her weight, Lydia's thighs began to ache sweetly, and she desperately tried to stave off her rapidly approaching climax in an effort to finish with Cullen.

Cullen grunted, and Lydia's eyes strained to take in the bunching muscles of his back as his hips snapped forward into his hand. He pressed himself into the tight ring of his fingers and stilled for a moment, a low grown tumbling from between his lips in the shape of her own name as he came hard over the dark wood of his desk.

 _Fuck! Fuck_ ,  _fuck fuck!_

She tried to keep in the pleasant squeal of her orgasm from breaking free of her chest, but she was unable to stifle it altogether and fell with a thud against the door as her body quivered and shook around her fingers. She realized he'd heard her when the heavy sound of his footsteps approached his door. Lydia scrambled away faster than she ever thought she could move, fleeing toward the rotunda and praying to every deity between Ferelden and Tevinter that Cullen had not opened his door to investigate until she was well out of sight.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg I updated this story after MONTHS of leaving everyone hanging! Forgive me, lovely readers! The end is finally here!  
> And it's a goodun' heeheehee  
> Also feel free to follow me on the tumblr! kuranova08.tumblr.com

He was watching her. 

Lydia could feel his eyes on her the moment she began crossing the bridge into Skyhold. The morning after her embarrassing flight from Cullen’s tower, she had needed to leave on a mission. Perhaps foolishly, she thought the whole ordeal would have just blown over upon her return, but if the intensity of his stare was any indication, it had not. It also informed her that he  _ knew _ she had been the one outside of his door.

_ Maker have mercy. _

As she alighted from her horse and handed the reins to the stableboy, her mind scrambled for a way to explain herself. They needed to work together, after all, and she was uncertain of how much more of his pointed staring she would be able to take. Was he angry with her? She’d surely overstepped, and she would have to apologize, but what on earth did one say to another when they’d been caught spying upon a private moment? Well, she wasn’t entirely sure Cullen knew the extent of her lechery, but a man of his intelligence would not be hard pressed to make such a connection. 

Lydia mustered her nerve and looked up toward his tower, unsurprised to find her Commander’s fiery gaze fixed on her. She swallowed thickly, and made a gesture toward him that translated roughly to ‘may I come up?’. He didn’t answer, which unnerved her, and only pushed away from the stone railing to disappear from sight. 

With a sigh, she once again turned her thoughts toward how to fix the mess she’d created for herself. She’d only intended to see what had been bothering him, and had instead found herself embarrassingly aroused and masturbating shamelessly outside of his office, where she had spied upon him in a  _ painfully _ private moment. She would not blame him if he didn’t wish to speak with her. Maker, if she put herself in his shoes, she would be livid!

One aspect of the embarrassing incident gave her some hope, though she was afraid to place much confidence in it. Before she had fled, as Cullen had come undone while she watched him through the keyhole on his office door, he had said her name. _Her_ _name._ It seemed silly to think anything of it. Perhaps it was only a way for him to release his frustration, and she had been the person that had caused him the most distress. It didn’t work like that, she didn’t think, but she was afraid to hope.

Growing frustrated, Lydia stomped up the remaining steps to Skyhold’s main hall and berated herself for being so unforgivably weak and unworthy of her title as Inquisitor. She had behaved so poorly and with such little regard to one of her most trusted friends. She deserved whatever punishment he would deem necessary for her trespass. She only needed to get him to speak with her first.

“Inquisitor.”

As if on cue, the sound of Cullen’s voice startled her out of her internal diatribe. She looked up, their eyes meeting as he stood before her, between the door to her room and the rest of the main hall. His gaze was unreadable, and that made her nervous. She’d rather they just be out with it, damn the consequences. 

“Commander,” she replied, settling on the stiff formality granted by the use of his title. She owed him that much after what she had done.

“A word?”

His tone was clipped and efficient, and with it she felt her hope wither.

“Of course,” she replied, much more steadily than she felt, and motioned behind him. “My quarters?” She hesitated a beat, thinking the sound of the suggestion to be, well, too suggestive. Maker, he was going to think she was as loose as that stupid druffalo she’d had to wrangle in the Hinterlands!

Despite her verbal misstep, Cullen seemed unfazed, and turned on his heel to open the door for her. Lydia straightened her back and breezed through the door. She was a professional, she kept telling herself. Or, at least, she was capable of it.

She had just crossed the threshold onto the first landing leading to her quarters when the door closed, and Cullen’s very large, armored body filled the small space behind her. Lydia ignored the thrill that raced up her spine at his nearness, stomping down mercilessly on the desire it sparked. 

_ Professional! _

As if a demon were close on her heels, she began to hurry up the stairs to give herself some space from Cullen’s overwhelming presence. He remained in step with her despite the weight of his armor, and the sound of it clinking together as he moved seemed to Lydia too much like a death knell. For all she knew, this conversation he wished to have with her would effectively end their friendship, and for a moment she felt an uncertain tightness in her throat at the thought. 

Still, she felt his eyes on her back.

When they finally reached her room, an awkward silence hung in the air between them like a wraith. She waited a long while for him to speak, but he only stared at her, and it was making her fidget nervously enough that she began to move about her room, placing her belongings away from her expedition. She must have straightened the papers on her desk at least three times before he finally spoke.

“I believe I need to apologize to you, Inquisitor.”

That caught her off guard. 

“Apologize?” Her brows furrowed into a delicate arch. “For what, Cullen? Has something happened?”

Suddenly all thoughts of her own guilt had escaped her at the sight of how nervous and severe he appeared in that moment, and Lydia was struck with the feeling that something was definitely wrong. Cullen was her friend, after all. His well-being weighed heavily on her mind, and now it appeared he needed something from her. Whether it was a simple conversation or an ear to listen to his concerns, she would certainly rise to the occasion.

Cullen let out a long, slow breath, and forced himself to meet her eyes. “Not so suddenly, no. This is something that has been going on for a while. You remember what I told you of my past with the Order? About Uldred, the tower, and then later in Kirkwall?”

Lydia nodded, resting her hip against the edge of her desk while she listened, curious as to where he was going with this.

“In order to … cope with the place those experiences left me, I took to the rather controversial approach of finding solace in my own sexual depravity with others. Often.”

Lydia blinked. Sexual  _ depravity _ ? “Cullen, why-”

He cut her off with a raised hand, an imperious but gentle reprimand for her interruption, and continued on. “I have taken advantage of the Inquisition, of Skyhold, and your trust that I would conduct myself professionally. The notion that I have been lying to you somehow by omission has weighed on me, and while you were away, I decided that I would finally speak to you about my,” he hesitated, bringing up a hand to rub the back of his neck nervously, “habits.”

“First of all,” Lydia began slowly, still attempting to process what Cullen had just confessed, “I’m not upset or offended. What you do in your off time is none of my business, and I hardly have the desire to restrict the behavior of consenting adults.” Even as she said it, Lydia felt the heat rise in her cheeks, and she imagined she looked more like a tomato than a person. “Anyway, you have nothing to apologize for. The work you do for the Inquisition is exemplary, and I value your insight and dedication. Who you are outside of work won’t make me think any less of you.”

That was true, Lydia knew. While she was still struggling with the idea of Cullen, prim and formal, soliciting the people of Skyhold, it didn’t change her opinion of him - not at all.

With her words, Cullen’s shoulders seemed to lose some of their tension as he closed his eyes for a moment. “You have no idea what that means to hear you say that, Lydia. You are a kind leader, as well as a good friend.”

She smiled at him, thought the expression felt hollow at his choice of words, and she couldn’t help but wonder, if what he was saying was true, why he’d never come to her when he needed … whatever he needed. It was an ugly, jealous thing within her that fueled such thoughts, and she felt ashamed for even having them in the first place.

Cullen, perceptive as ever, narrowed his gaze on her. “I’ve upset you.”

Lydia blushed furiously once more and lied through her teeth. “N-no. Not at all.”

Suddenly Cullen’s entire countenance changed. He stood straighter, seemed more attentive, if that was possible, and peered at her in a way that had her blushing for reasons entirely removed from embarrassment.

“You’re lying,” he stated frankly, in the way that only Cullen could manage. “We are friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course!” Lydia was flustered now, entirely too aware of his presence in her room. “I’m just -. You’re -. Damn it.”

He cocked his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a half-smile. “Out with it.”

Lydia stomped her foot in a decidedly un-Inquisitorial fit of frustration and crossed her arms over her stomach. “I  _ might _ be just a little … “ she mumbled the rest of her statement, but Cullen caught the last word quickly despite her efforts to hide it.

“You’re jealous?” 

Lydia chanced a look at him, but where she expected to find perhaps an indulgent smile at her confession, she instead saw a sort of shocked awe on Cullen’s face. Perplexed at such a reaction to her simple words, Lydia nodded. Just as quickly Cullen shuttered his expression, and the invisible weight seemed to come crashing back down onto his shoulders.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” he said.

Well, she wasn’t expecting  _ that _ sort of let down. “Oh,” she said. The sting of his rejection must have shown plainly on her face, because he was quick to elaborate.

“It’s not as if I don’t find you attractive,” Cullen rushed. “Quite the opposite. I would just feel as if I were taking advantage of you, were I to come to you when the memories become too much. As I said, I consider you a friend - you are dear to me and I don’t think that, if we began something, I could leave it as a simple affair. True, sex makes me feel more in control of myself, but it’s a tool and you deserve so much more than that from me.”

In that moment Lydia felt simultaneously guilty and relieved. She was glad that Cullen didn’t find her wholly repulsive, of course, but perhaps she was more grateful for the fact that she hadn’t embarrassed herself in the face of admitting something she’d kept to herself for quite some time. She cared for the surly commander, deeply, and though she was not ready to ascribe such a term as love to the way she felt for him, it didn’t mean that she never wanted to.

_ Maker, she was hopeless. _

Lydia fortified herself with a deep breath, and took a chance. “What if a ‘simple affair’ isn’t what I’m looking for?”

Cullen looked almost pained. “You can’t mean -. I’m not -.  _ Lydia _ you are not making this easy!”

“I’m not trying to make it easy. I’m trying to tell you that I care about you too!” She bit her tongue, quelling the need to argue. “Look, if you’re worried about using me, don’t. I wouldn’t want that for myself, and I would never ask you to, but if the only reason you think this,” she gestured between them, “wouldn’t work out is because you’d want something  _ more _ , well. I’m telling you that  _ I do, too _ .”

Cullen stood there, closer to her than before and yet farther that she would have liked, twisting his gauntleted fingers together in a nervous gesture she’d never seen before. Normally he was so collected and assured; to see him so undone from their conversation caused her to worry, much like she had that day he’d stormed out of the war room and she’d caught him masturbating to the thought of her. 

The memory sent an odd, debauched little thrill up her spine.

“You mean that?” he suddenly asked, forcing himself to still the rapid movement of his hands. 

“Well, I’m not lying, so yes,” Lydia replied.

“You aren’t utterly disgusted with my  _ history _ ?”

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. You dealt with your past in a quiet and respectful way, and though I won’t say I’m not jealous of every single woman you’ve ever been with, I’m not going to hold your coping mechanisms against you.” 

Lydia pushed herself away from her desk and stood before him to take his hands, which had begun drifting back together, into her own.

“I am willing to give you whatever you need of me, Cullen. I  _ care _ about you and what you need to feel like yourself.” She hesitated, then pressed on recklessly. “And I’m also hopelessly attracted to you.”

Finally, another smile drew across his lips. “That sentiment is entirely mutual.”

“Good. Then no more of these feelings of unworthiness. You’re a talented military adviser, calm, kind, and not to mention handsome-!”

He interrupted her with a kiss, crowding her and using her grip on his hands to direct her backward until her thighs hit the edge of her desk. Cullen pressed close, so close that Lydia was able to feel each angle and jut of his silverite armor against her body. Despite the discomfort of being trapped between two decidedly unyielding surfaces, Lydia couldn’t bring herself to care, especially not when Cullen withdrew his hands from hers, tugged his gauntlets off, and then brought his fingers up to tangle in her hair at the base of her neck as he continued to ply his lips against her own.

Nothing about the embrace was gentle, though that wasn’t a surprise to her. Calm and considerate as Cullen might be, he was a soldier first and foremost, and the diligent ruthlessness he applied to his work was evident in the way he kissed her, in the way he firmly grasped the base of her neck between his fingers to move her how he wanted. The complete and utter surrender of control might have been alarming to some, but Lydia found that she quite liked the feeling of throwing the heavy mantle of Inquisitor at her feet and letting someone else take the reins for once.

One large hand dropped from the tangle of her hair to the curve of her hip and drew her forward to meet the unmistakably hard line of his cock through his trousers. Lydia hummed her appreciation of the contact into their kiss, feeling the spark of arousal she had been trying to suppress earlier fan into a roaring flame. 

Her fingers clawed at his armor, finding purchase along the edges of his breastplate in an effort to get even closer to him. Cullen seemed to understand what she wanted, and wordlessly shoved his thigh between her legs to provide the friction she so desperately needed as he dropped his lips to the column of her throat. He scraped his teeth over the skin thrumming rapidly with her heartbeat as Lydia drove her aching heat against the firm curve of his thigh with a series of mewls she would have been utterly ashamed of had Cullen been anyone else.

All at once he paused, pulling  away from her just far enough to search her eyes for any hint of objection. He was watching her closely, as a cat might observe a field mouse. Cautious. Intent. She was familiar enough with that expression to read it thoroughly, and brought her hands up to smooth her thumbs over the furrow between his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she said. 

Instead of continuing , Cullen appeared to consider her further, then drew away altogether. “Undress,” he said simply. 

Lydia shivered, subtly attempting to press her thighs together to relieve some of the pressure building between her legs. She complied with the order, though, fingers flying over the clasps of her uniform as Cullen busied himself with the task of removing his plate. She had only just shrugged out of her clothes when Cullen returned to her, heat in his eyes and a lusty smirk on his lips as he reached out to trail the pads of his fingers down over the curve of her spine. He wore only his trousers and a loose shirt, open at the collar, but his presence was so overwhelmingly sexual he might as well have been stark naked.

Only a few, brief touches against her skin before he drew away from her and sat upon the bed. “Come here,” he said, voice so soft that Lydia had to strain to hear him. 

She complied, eager to please, and moved to stand between his thighs where he immediately ran his palms up the backs of her legs and tugged. Lydia’s knees buckled, landing her squarely in Cullen’s lap, the surprise of which elicited a squeal to which he only laughed. 

“Sorry,” he said, and nibbled at her collarbone. “I might be a bit overeager.”

Lydia smiled, threading her fingers through his curls. “I don’t mind as long as you’re patient with me.”

A rumble shuddered through her body from where his lips met her skin, and before she could so much as breathe another squeak in surprise he had her on her back beneath him. “Remember that you said patient, not gentle,” he said as he smirked down at her. His eyes were dark, mischievous. “But I expect you’ll like that.”

Cullen’s fingers dug into her soft flesh as he brought her legs around his waist, rolling his hips against hers. A desperate little whimper escaped Lydia’s lips at the contact. His mouth moved over hers, consuming each hum of pleasure and each whimper of need with a burning kiss that seems to devour her - and she wanted it to. She met the shallow, searching thrusts of his hips with her own, and when his hand snaked between them to slip the pad of one finger over the wet seam of her heat she cried out. Her hands fisted into the fabric of his shirt that rested taut against his shoulders as his touch persisted.

His clothes were rough against her feverish skin, but the friction felt wonderful against her bare breasts. Lydia arched up into his touch, desperate for more, and Cullen’s resulting growl and the heat of his breath against her neck caused her to tighten her legs around his waist. Her hands unclenched from his shirt, sliding down his back to grab at his ass. Despite his clothes, her nails bit deep and drew forth another rumble. He retaliated in the best fashion by slipping two fingers into her dripping heat. 

Cullen didn’t wait for her to adjust to the intrusion. He pursued her pleasure like an opponent on the field of battle. He was forceful and quick, merciless enough to ignore her increasing sounds of surprise and satisfaction as if he knew innately what would be just enough to send her tumbling over the edge of orgasm and he was holding her just so. She was there, stuck at the height of her own pleasure and he was refusing her. 

“Cullen!” she bit out, able to hear the plea in her own voice as clearly as if she had demanded he finish her off.

“Yes, Lydia?” Cullen purred against the curve of her jaw, nipping, sucking and biting his way across the expanse of flesh bared before him. 

“Please!” She arched against him again, hands back in his hair as she gripped him to her.

Instead, Cullen withdrew his fingers from her sex, leaving her maddeningly empty, but it was not long before he pressed his wet fingers against her lips. Lydia opened her mouth and drew the digits in, licking and sucking in a fine mimicry of what she would have done with other parts of his anatomy, were she able. But she could not suppress the need to be filled any longer. A slim hand skimmed down over her stomach, her eyes fluttering closed as her own fingers replaced Cullen’s in her dripping heat. She writhed beneath him, hot breaths puffing out around his fingers as she pleasured herself.

“Fuck.”

Cullen’s quiet curse had her eyes open again to see him staring down at her with such an intense mixture of desire and possessiveness that she’d almost missed that he freed his cock and was stroking himself as he watched her do the same. A high, plaintive whine left her at the sight, and somehow another “please” tumbled from her lips.

Cullen was unable to command patience any longer. He removed himself from her, ignoring her wordless protests as he slapped her thigh and ordered her to turn over. 

“On your hands and knees with your ass in the air, Inquisitor.” 

Lydia was quick to act, though the hazy fog of her arousal made it difficult to think about much more than the promise of Cullen’s cock driving her down into her bed. The mental image that conjured sent a roaring wave of arousal surging through her belly. Before she could begin to beg Cullen to fill her, he was looming over her, his chest pressed firmly against her back and his hard cock snugly fit along the cleft of her ass. She was shaking, at the end of her rope, pleased when she tilted her hips and rubbed the wet seam of her sex against him and Cullen responded with a low groan. The blunt edges of his teeth bit into the flesh of her shoulder as he rumbled his approval.

The heat of his body moved away for only a second before he returned, the head of his cock pressing into her without preamble. Despite the abrupt entry, there was a certain finesse to the rough way he took her, hand tangled in her hair and violent snap of his hips against her own.

“This is honest,” he breathed against her ear. “You are mine now.”

Lydia felt herself clench around him at the declaration as he pounded steadily into her. She begged for more and he acquiesced, the sounds and scent of sex filling the room and surrounding her. Pressing his lips against her sweaty temple, Cullen’s hips stuttered against hers, his hand drifting down to circle her pearl. Just a few strokes and she was finished, knuckles white and buried in the sheets as she came around him. It was only a moment later that Cullen followed, his arm banding around her waist as the other held his weight off of her. 

Cullen sighed, almost as if in relief as he sat back, forehead dropping to rest between her shoulder blades. “Thank you.”

Lydia turned around and tucked her legs beneath her as she sat back to look at him. “Cullen.” She scooted closer, wrapping her arms about his neck. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m here for you, remember?”

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her to him. “I think that’s precisely why I need to thank you.”

She pushed away from him, intending to look him in the eye while she impressed upon him the notion that he didn’t owe her anything only to find him smiling cheekily at her. 

“Ass,” she mumbled, pursing her lips into a pout.

He laughed, dropping a quick kiss onto her mouth. “Sometimes, yes.” He paused. “So this … being together, is really something you want?”

She hugged him tighter. “Yes, Cullen. For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Then I suppose now is a good time to warn you that’s going to be for a very long time. Oh, and please feel free to invite yourself in the next time you decide to lurk about outside my office door.”


End file.
